She took a binder out of her bag, checked to make sure it contained the file on the third murder, and handed it across the table to Ryuzaki.
“And... these are the crime scene photographs...” “Thanks.”
“But like I said, there haven’t been any breakthroughs. The con tents are the same as yesterday.”
“Yes, I know. But there were a few things I wanted to double check... but this is a horrible picture, isn’t it?” Ryuzaki said, putting one of the photographs down on the table where Misora could see it. It was a picture of Backyard Bottomslash’s body. Misora had witnessed many horrible things during her career
at the FBI, but this picture was so grotesque it gave her chills every time she saw it. Compared with this picture, cuts on a chest or crushed eyeballs were nothing.
The body was lying on its back, and the left arm and right leg had been chopped off at the root. There was blood everywhere, all over the crime scene.
“They found the right leg abandoned in the bathroom, but they still have no idea where the left arm is. Obviously, the killer took it with him. But why?”
“That question again? But Ryuzaki, isn’t that another example of something that should be there, but isn’t? In this case, the victim’s left arm.”
“The killer needed to cut off the left arm... but he did not bring the right leg with him. He just tossed it into the bathroom. What does that mean?”
“Either way, we’re going over there this afternoon... but I’d like to spend a few hours here first.” “That sounds fine, Oh, yeah, there was a photo album belonging to the victim in that cabinet, Misora. Probably worth checking out. You might be able to find something about the victim’s personality, or her friends...”
“Okay. I’ll do that.”
Ryuzaki turned his attention back to the file, and Misora stood up and made a beeline for the bathroom sink. She could no longer bear the grainy feeling in her mouth. She quickly gargled, but once was hardly enough, so she repeated the action two or three times.
She considered trying to contact L again. There had been no answer earlier, so... no, yesterday had been a house, but in a tiny apartment like this there was no getting away from Ryuzaki. Even if she called from the bathroom, he wouldn’t even need to move over to the door to hear her. She would have to tell L about the attack eventually... or was that not something L would care about?
Misora looked up and saw her face in the mirror. Naomi Misora.
This was her.
That much was clear.
Everyone knows the sensation of staring at a word for a long period of time until you start to wonder if it is really spelled correctly. In the same way, it was possible to doubt oneself, to wonder how long one
could really be oneself. Was she still herself? Which is why this was so important.
Why she stared at her reflection, confirming it again.
“But does L do the same?” she wondered suddenly. The century’s greatest detective, someone who never showed himself in public, his identity unknown. How many people could say for sure that L was L? Was there anyone at all? Naomi Misora had no way of knowing, but she wondered if L, looking in a mirror, would even know who it was looking back at him.
“A mirror... a mirror?” Hmm.
She almost had something there.
A mirror... right and left reversed in the reflection... reflected light... light reflecting off a smooth surface... glass, silver nitrate aqueous solution... silver? No, the material didn’t matter, it was the quality that was important... that quality... the reflection of light... no, the reversal of right and left... in opposition?
“Opposition... the opposite... reversed!”
Misora bolted out of the bathroom, back to the table. Ryuzaki looked up from the file in surprise, his black-rimmed eyes opening wide.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “The picture!”
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